In the Beginning
by sinceyoufellinlovewithme
Summary: Cora and Robert celebrate an awkward first Christmas. Part of the 2015 Cobert Christmas Fic Exchange; my word was "prelude" and my image was the cover image of the Victorians around the tree.
1. Chapter 1

Christmas Day 1890

"Come in," Cora called sleepily, waking at her maid's knock on the bedroom door.

"Good morning, m'lady," Miss O'Malley said softly as Cora struggled into a seated position. "A happy Christmas to you," she went on, passing her a cup of tea. Cora tried to smile in response, but she must not have quite managed it, for her maid's next words were, "Are you all right this morning, ma'am?"

Cora nodded, although the reminder of just which morning this was had made her want to cry. "Yes, quite all right. Happy Christmas." She'd been married nearly a year, and in her premarital innocence, she had assumed that Robert would have fallen in love with her long before now. Waking up alone on Christmas morning, with no expectation of anything more than a cursory greeting from her husband in the midst of a hectic house party, had never been the plan.

"Shall I fetch breakfast for your ladyship?"

"Yes, please. Thank you, O'Malley."

Once she was alone, Cora took a couple sips of her tea and then, feeling two sudden kicks inside of her abdomen, set it on the bedside table. Clearly, she wasn't the only one awake.

She placed her hands on her swollen belly and rubbed gently, feeling a slight fluttering in response to the caress. "And a very merry Christmas to you, too, little one," she whispered, using the form of the holiday greeting that she knew marked her as an American. "You'll be here to celebrate next year."

Her and Robert's first child was due in a mere six weeks, and Cora's eagerness to meet her baby went beyond a mother's natural urge to see her child, for she had begun to think that having the baby might mean that she didn't feel quite so alone here. While she knew that it would be years before she and her child could have a meaningful conversation, and even longer before their relationship could approach anything near friendship, a little son or daughter would at least make her feel that she was not completely unloved at Downton.

Which she certainly was at the moment. The thought made tears threaten again, and she reached for her tea, taking another sip to force herself to swallow them. She hated how weepy pregnancy had made her.

It was not that Robert was unkind. Far from it, actually—he'd been good to her over the past year, and given her anything she'd asked for, and been sweetly concerned for her comfort as she'd carried their child. But it was all from an appropriately English, aristocratic distance, and she could not help but feel that he spoke to her as he might a third cousin with whom he'd once or twice had tea. She wanted him to sit and talk with her, to hold her hand, to spend the night in her bed and fall asleep with her in his arms, to respond with something more than the embarrassed silence that had met her pronouncement of love on their wedding night.

Cora had always assumed that Robert would come to love her eventually, but the imminent birth made her feel as though her time were growing short for this to happen naturally. Because if she bore a son, surely that would make him love her—surely he would have to love the woman who had given him an heir—but how artificial that would feel! She did not want to think his love for her rested only on her luck in having produced a boy.

But on the other hand, if she bore a daughter (and somehow, although it might have been only her anxiety about the issue, she suspected she carried a girl), she could not imagine how he would _ever_ fall in love with her. Surely if she failed so epically in her first attempt at this most important of all duties, he would think her far more unlovable than he already did.

Worst of all, she did not think she had much opportunity to induce his love in the few weeks she had left before the birth. If he had not fallen for her when she was slender and beautiful, how on earth was it going to happen while she was the size of a whale?

Cora's thoughts were interrupted by her maid's return with her breakfast tray, which she accepted with a soft smile that she knew did not meet her eyes. "Thank you, O'Malley."

"Will that be all, ma'am?"

"No, I've got a Christmas gift for you."

"But my lady, you've already—"

"I know." She had discovered that it was the custom at Downton for lady's maids to receive only fabric for a new dress at Christmas, and her mother-in-law had stared in thin, silent disapproval when Cora had asked if she might do something more. In the Levinson family, close staff had always been given far more personal and expensive gifts, and a few yards of dull material fell quite short of what she wanted to give the lovely Irishwoman who had looked after her so sweetly all year, drying more tears than she cared to count. "But I didn't think the fabric was quite…" Cora trailed off, not sure what to say without making her in-laws seem ungenerous. "It's in the drawer on the right in my dressing table. Would you mind getting it yourself?" she asked with an apologetic smile. Getting in and out of bed had become a strenuous endeavor this late in her pregnancy, and she had no desire to do it an extra time.

O'Malley chuckled softly. "Of course not, m'lady." She walked to the dressing table and removed a small, wrapped box, which she opened to reveal a gold chain with a single pearl hanging as a pendant. "Oh, my lady…"

Cora blushed, realizing how very fine this must seem in a house where maids expected _fabric_. "You've been very kind to me this year," she said quietly.

O'Malley shook her head, but she was smiling. "No, your ladyship is very generous. Thank you."

When her maid had gone, Cora was left thinking on the presents hiding in the dressing table's other drawer: Robert's gifts. She chewed her lip, wondering for the thousandth time if they were _right_ , and suspecting yet again that perhaps they weren't. She'd gotten him two of the rare book editions she'd known he wanted for the library, and she thought that gift was quite correct: not too sentimental and not too intimate, yet not impersonal, for it did show she listened to him.

But then there was the _other_ present. The one from the baby.

It had been a few months ago, she'd been in a very sentimental mood, and Robert had smiled at her in the way that always made her heart melt as she suspected he was just days away from declaring his love. And so she'd gone out and bought a small, ornate frame and had the words, "To Papa, Christmas 1890," engraved on it, intending it to hold a photograph of the child after it was born.

Of course, with a few more months of Robert's halfhearted interest in her, it had come to seem a ridiculously sentimental idea that would only push him further away from his daft, American wife. At best, it would surely make them both uncomfortable, and she had been toying with tossing it out for weeks. Yet it had been chosen and purchased with so much hope that that option always seemed too painful, and thus it sat wrapped up next to the books.


	2. Chapter 2

Robert was pacing the front hall and cursing his sister as he turned the gift over and over in his pocket. The gift. Cora's gift. Cora's _blasted_ gift.

He'd dithered for weeks over what to buy her, what she might want, what would make her happy, and then the days had gotten away from him and it had been the morning of the 23rd and he'd gone to his sister in a panic. Could she find something for Cora? Was there even still time? Would he have nothing to give his wife on Christmas Day?

"Oh Robert," Rosamund had said, exasperation in her voice as she waved his worry away. "You haven't got to be such a nervous wreck about everything! Yes, of course I can get a present for Cora, and _of course_ it's not too late. Give me a couple hours this afternoon to pop into the village, and I'll bring you something."

He'd gratefully pressed a purse full of money into her hands and breathed a sigh of relief. Rosamund returned shortly before the dressing gong and passed him a small package, which he'd left in his room to examine after dinner.

It was from the local jeweler, he'd realized immediately as he'd begun to unwrap it that night. Excellent—he'd been thinking of jewelry but hadn't trusted himself to choose something to Cora's tastes. Surely his sister would know better…

And then he'd seen that it was a heart-shaped diamond pendant hanging from a delicate gold chain. Beautiful, yes, and he could readily imagine it resting against the alabaster skin at Cora's neck, but…it was a _heart_. He couldn't give his wife a heart, not when their marriage was…what it was. And now it was too late to exchange it: the shops would be closed tomorrow, as it was Christmas Eve.

"What were you thinking?" he hissed to his sister over breakfast on the morning of the 24th.

"Thinking?" she asked innocently.

"With that necklace! I can't give Cora that!"

"But I think she'll like it very much!" Rosamund exclaimed, her expression aghast. "Whatever's wrong with it?"

Yes, she would like it very much. That was the point. "It's a _heart_. You know I can't go giving Cora something like that."

She raised her eyebrows. "And why not?"

He tried not to squirm under her piercing gaze. "I don't want her to get the wrong idea. About us."

"Robert," she said, her voice suddenly steely, "if you're afraid to show affection to your wife—your very _pregnant_ wife, who's carrying your _child_ —there's nothing I can do to fix you."

He sighed and did not respond. It wasn't that he didn't want to be kind to Cora, or that he didn't want to make her happy. The opposite, rather—he didn't want her to be hurt. _He_ didn't want to hurt her.

And he knew he already had. He knew he'd hurt her by marrying her, hurt her with his silence when she'd declared her love on their wedding night, hurt her with his inability to say the words she craved over the past year. But he couldn't, he _wouldn't_ lie to her. He might not love her, but he cared for her far too much to give her false hope that he would inevitably crush, and thus he'd been careful to keep a distance from her that she could not possibly misinterpret.

This was, in many ways, very difficult. Robert _liked_ Cora, and thought her one of the loveliest creatures he had ever laid eyes on, and loved to listen to her sweet voice, and wanted to sit and enjoy her company and gaze at her features and have her close to him. Yet he was not willing to risk hurting her to satisfy his own desires.

And now he was about to give her a heart-shaped necklace that he knew her romantic American mind would take entirely the wrong way. Perhaps he'd mention that his sister had picked it out, before she even opened it. Perhaps if she knew it hadn't been his choice, she wouldn't read into it.

"Robert?"

He looked up, startled at the sound of her soft, American accent. Cora was making her slow, methodical way down the stairs, one hand, he was glad to see, clutching the railing while the other rested on her belly.

"Cora!" Nothing frightened him more than watching her attempt the stairs, now that she could no longer see her own feet. He raced up the steps to meet her and gently took hold of the hand that was clasped to her stomach. "Here, let me hold onto you," he said, wrapping her arm in his. "You know how I worry that you'll fall." He pressed his hand over hers, as though to reassure himself that she was safe.

"I'm not going to fall," she said, a smile in her voice as a soft blush rose into her cheeks. "But you may hold my arm if you like."

They continued down the stairs together, Robert forcing them to walk at an even slower pace than Cora had used on her own.

"I thought I might see you earlier this morning," she went on.

He swallowed, feeling the uncomfortable heat of his own guilt. He had known very well that he would be expected to drop by his wife's bedroom after breakfast to exchange gifts privately, and he had longed to begin his Christmas with the lovely sight of _Cora_ , but he had put it off, hoping a hurried exchange that night—when his gift might seem a mere afterthought—might imbue the heart with less unintended meaning.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I was distracted. The guests—"

She shook her head. "It's all right. We've got all day. And happy Christmas," she added shyly.

"I hope you didn't come down earlier than you would have otherwise," he said, a new worry occurring to him. "Would you have rested longer if I'd come to see you? You have a long day ahead of you; I don't want you to be overtired—"

 _"Robert,"_ she said firmly, "I'm quite all right. I came down because I was excited for the holiday. You don't need to fuss all day."

He sighed inwardly, hearing the reference to his mother's desperate attempt to sequester Cora upstairs as she neared the end of her pregnancy. It was a plan he had unequivocally supported, fearing she'd overexert herself and somehow be hurt, but his American wife had had none of it. He would not "fuss," he told himself, but he would do his best to make sure she was kept comfortable today, in the midst of their busy house party. Once he got her downstairs, he would seat her by the fire in the library, and then perhaps they could talk for a bit. He so rarely let himself sit and _talk_ to Cora—it wasn't proper, he had to remind himself, he had duties on the estate, and she might _take it the wrong way_ , but surely on Christmas, it was permissible to spend time with his wife, and surely she would see it as nothing more than the general family closeness of the holiday…

"There you are, Robert," he heard his mother say, and he looked down to see her entering the hall. "I've been looking all over for you. You're still planning to lead this morning's skating party, aren't you?"

Ah, yes. The skating party. He _had_ agreed to take a group down to the estate's pond for a bit of ice skating before luncheon. He sighed, sensing his quiet morning with Cora disappearing.

* * *

Christmas Day at Downton was a whirlwind, and—aside from two meals where she was far away at the other end of the table—Robert did not see Cora again until dinner broke up and the men joined the ladies in the great hall, where a massive Christmas tree reached for the high ceiling and glowed with countless candles. There was an orchestra playing, and some of the couples began to dance—out of the question, of course, for Cora, as much as Robert did long to have her in his arms.

She was seated on a soft red chair, an almost melancholy look on her face as she regarded the rest of the party. Her hand rested on her belly again, and for a moment she looked so much like a piece of art that he wasn't quite sure she was real. She wore their child beautifully, he thought, and her pregnancy had brought a new fullness to her face that seemed to make her smiles even sweeter.

It had also made him more tender toward her, as he'd silently fretted for the last seven months over whether she was feeling ill or whether she was eating the right things or whether she was too tired or whether an activity was too taxing or whether her back was hurting her. Of course, he was fully aware that pregnancy was a female affair and not the sort of thing he should be taking such great interest in, and so he had swallowed his inquiries and his worries and his desire to touch her soft curves.

Cora offered him a soft smile when her eyes fell on him, and he went to stand near her. He wanted to lay a hand on her shoulder, to caress her, but he settled for placing his hand on the back of her chair. Up close, he could see that her face was rather drawn, and he longed to send her to bed, but he knew she wouldn't take it well.

"Did you have a happy Christmas?" he asked.

"Yes," she said softly. "But I still have a present for you."

Of course. The present. Robert suddenly felt as though he had rocks in his stomach again. "As do I," he said, his mouth dry, and she nodded.

He looked away, trying to ignore the fact that time was drawing short. There were several children in the room—children who would usually have been in the nursery long before now but who had been allowed to stay up in anticipation of more gifts on Christmas night. A threesome of young sisters—his cousin Annabelle's children—were hovering near the tree, holding hands while their mother stooped and spoke to the smallest one. He let himself imagine that Annabelle was Cora, and that the three little girls were miniature copies of his own wife. How he hoped this child would look like Cora.

"That's rather how I imagine our family might look someday, don't you think?" he asked her.

Cora studied the children and then raised her eyebrows. "There isn't a boy there, Robert."

He blinked. Of course there wasn't. How silly of him. "Well, of course we'd have a boy as well," he said. "Maybe several."

"Do you not think this is a boy?" she asked nervously.

"However would I know that?" he asked, and she shrugged. He didn't have any opinion as to what the child in Cora's womb was, and, in truth, he didn't much care. Yes, they needed a son and heir, but Cora had fallen pregnant quickly, and she was only twenty-two. There were years' worth of babies ahead of them, and if this one wasn't a boy, surely the next one would be, or the next after that. Robert wanted a houseful of children with Cora. And while he knew it would take a great deal of pressure off them both to achieve a son in their first go round, he also rather hoped for a little girl, who might be just as Cora was and who would delight him as much as her mother.

"I suppose I look rather ridiculous at this party," she said suddenly, and he stared at her in surprise. "All dressed up in an evening gown and tiara, when I'm as big as a house."

It was so far from what he had been thinking that he wasn't quite sure what to say. Yes, her belly was large, but he'd only grown more in awe of her as she'd grown bigger.

"Actually, I've been thinking this whole time how pretty you looked," he said honestly. Cora blushed and dropped her eyes, but he could tell from her smile that she was pleased.

"Robert?" she said after a moment's silence. "Do you think it would be very rude of me to go up now?"

"Of course not!" he exclaimed, relieved at the suggestion. "You've more than done your duty; you must look after yourself. Of course you should go to bed if you're tired."

She shook her head. "I'm not tired enough for bed; it's only that…I'm a bit uncomfortable, and I should like to change clothes." She blushed again, as she always did at any suggestion of undressing.

Of course she wanted to get out of her evening clothes. _His_ evening clothes were uncomfortable, and he lacked the corset and the petticoats and the layers and the jewels weighing Cora down, and he also was not carrying a child.

"I can't help thinking that the chaise in my nightdress would be a bit more pleasant," she went on, giving him an apologetic smile.

"Of course, of course," he said, offering his arm to help her to her feet. _Yes,_ he wanted to say, watching as she winced and pressed her hand to the small of her back as she stood, _go upstairs and wrap yourself in a soft dressing gown and put your feet up and ask your maid to fetch you a hot water bottle_. But he swallowed the words.

"Will you come up later for your present?" she asked. "I can sit and read while I wait for you."

The blasted presents again. "Of course," he forced himself to say. "I won't be very long."


	3. Chapter 3

"It's a relief to see you like this."

Robert spun around at the sound of his father's voice. He had not realized how long he'd been staring at the doorway Cora had passed through, his mind still fixed on the smile she'd given him.

"Like what?" he asked, suspecting the answer was _like an idiot_ , given the vacant way he must have been gazing at nothing.

"Why, in love with your wife, of course."

 _"What?"_

His father seemed not to notice his sputtering. "I didn't feel at all right about insisting you marry for money," Patrick went on, clapping Robert on the shoulder. "I thought I'd be depriving you of something. But I haven't at all, I see. Not with the way you look at Cora."

"How I—how I—"

As usual, the earl took no notice of the interruption. "Mooning after her like a lovesick puppy!" Patrick said with a chuckle. "It's good to see it, son. Good to see it."

Robert heard his father distantly, an echo from the far end of a long chamber. For his own thoughts were crashing over him—thoughts of Cora, thoughts of their baby and their marriage and their family, thoughts of how pretty and sweet and warm she was, and of how sometimes he couldn't breathe when he looked at her or heard her voice, thoughts of how much he wanted to take her in his arms, thoughts of how much he…

"I do love her," he gasped. How had he not noticed this before? How had he been such a fool? "I'm in love with Cora!" he exclaimed, seizing his father's arm and suddenly wild with the news.

"Well said, my boy, well said!" The words were a bit slurred, and as Patrick raised his glass in a toast, it occurred to Robert that perhaps his lordship was slightly drunk. His mother's problem, not his, he immediately decided.

All he wanted now was to get to Cora, and he dashed from the hall and up the main staircase. He had to tell her…he had to tell her right now…

Was the necklace enough of a gift? he wondered suddenly, freezing in his climb. Was a mere diamond necklace enough at a time like this? When there was more at stake than Christmas—this was the night he'd tell her he loved her. He wanted to give her something more, something substantial, something that mattered…his heart, he realized. He'd be giving her his heart, so perfectly symbolized by his sister who, as he'd hoped, had known better than him. He said a silent prayer of thanks that she had seen what he had not, and continued his ascent.

Robert paused at the door to Cora's room, hearing voices. Of course—her maid would still be undressing her; she'd only just gone up. And excited as he was, he knew it was by no means proper to burst in on his wife while she was with her maid, shouting his love for her. He sighed, shifting from foot to foot. Whatever were they doing in there that took so long? Why must women wear so many clothes?

Roughly three years later, by his count, the door opened, and O'Malley gave him a shy nod as she slipped past him.

"Cora?" he called, stepping into the room himself and suddenly sobered at the thought of what he had to say…and what he had not said for almost an entire year of marriage. How was it that he had not always loved her? Had there ever truly been a time when he hadn't?

Cora was lying on her side in bed, a book in her hands that she had yet to open, and her eyes registered surprise at his sudden appearance.

But he'd expected to find her curled up on the chaise. "Are you quite all right?" he asked, his heart clenching at the thought that something was wrong. "I hadn't thought you were going to bed…"

"Nothing's wrong, Robert," she said, giving him another one of those smiles that seemed to stop all coherent thought. "I'm perfectly all right. It's only that the bed looked far more inviting than the chaise, and my back was aching, and I thought I'd be better off lying down."

"And are you better?" he asked anxiously.

She laughed that soft laugh of hers. "I've only just lain down, but a bit, I think."

He paused, turning his words over in his mouth. Cora was breathtaking at night, he mused, but he'd known that since he married her—after she'd been undressed, she was less the fabulously bedecked viscountess and more the soft American girl who'd first caught his eye, and it delighted him.

"Did you come for your present?" she asked when he did not speak. "It's—"

"No," Robert said, almost sharply. "I didn't come for my present. I came to tell you I love you."

For a moment, she merely stared at him. And then she did the last thing he had expected: she burst into tears.

"Cora!" The empty side of the bed was between them, and he leaned into it, almost sitting down, but he was afraid to reach out to her. Had she not wanted to hear that? Had her own feelings changed since their wedding?

"I'm sorry!" she said, ineffectively wiping at tears that continued to flow. "It's only that I didn't think…I didn't think you ever would!"

His throat burned with regret, and he felt his face aflame with his shame. Why had he been such a fool? What sort of year had his wife endured alone while he went on his oblivious way?

"Oh darling," he breathed, finally giving voice to one of the names that had danced on the tip of his tongue for months. (How had he ever thought he might hurt her by seeming too fond of her? How had he not seen plainly that it was his _disregard_ that hurt her?) "I'm sorry…I'm _so_ sorry…" Robert climbed into the bed all the way, ignoring his coat and tails, and lay down, drawing her close. She went willingly into his arms, snuggling against his chest in an affection-starved way that only made him feel guiltier.

"My darling, I've loved you for a long time," he said, feeling the truth of his words as he spoke them. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, then the tip of her nose, and at last her lips. "I only wish I…it was only…I was afraid I…" He wasn't sure how to explain himself, but Cora silenced him with a kiss to his cheek.

"That doesn't matter now," she said softly. He kissed her again and dried her tears with his thumb, and then she nestled her face against his neck.

But it did matter, Robert thought as he stroked her hair. It did matter, and it would always matter to him.

"I have something for you," he said quietly.

She pulled away to look into his face, smiling now. "Oh yes, of course! It is Christmas, isn't it? I have your present, too." Cora shifted, beginning to push herself up, but he laid his hand on her shoulder and gently pushed her back down, remembering that she was in bed in the first place because she was in pain.

"Lie still and let me get it, sweetheart. Where is it?"

"There's one on my nightstand," she said, and he immediately caught sight of it on the other side of her as he sat up. "And there's another in the left drawer of my dressing table."

She had gotten him two presents?

He retrieved both and then climbed back into her bed to open them as she watched happily. The one that had been sitting on her nightstand turned out to be two books he'd been looking for for the library—it pleased him, but it also made him blush at the thought that she'd listened so carefully to him, when he had sent someone else out for her gift a mere two days earlier.

And the second present…he could tell it was a picture frame as he tore the paper off, but then he saw the words engraved at the top: _To Papa, Christmas 1890_.

"Cora…"

"That one isn't from me," she said quietly. "That's from the baby."

He found he didn't have any words, but he wasn't sure he needed them. Instead, he leaned down to kiss her, and then kissed her belly as well, giving it a soft caress. When he straightened, he saw that there were tears gathering in her eyes again, but she was still smiling. "I love you both," he managed to say, running his hand through her hair again.

"I've had your present with me all day," he told her, reaching into the pocket of his dinner jacket. He passed the package to her and then stretched out beside her.

"Oh," she murmured when the little box was open. "Robert, it's beautiful! And how perfect…you've given me your heart."

It was precisely the sort of thing he had feared for two days that she might think, but now it was exactly what he wanted to hear. "You've had it longer than you've known, my darling," he said, giving her another kiss. How was it he'd never taken time to kiss her like this, to kiss his wife repeatedly and slowly and deliberately?

"You ought to be getting to sleep," he said when they broke apart at last. He could see the fatigue in Cora's eyes, and he suspected that she would have extinguished the lights as soon as she'd come up if she hadn't been waiting for him.

She didn't protest but laid a hand on his arm. "Will you stay with me?"

Stay with her? He knew it was completely improper to sleep in his wife's bed, but it sounded like the loveliest idea in the world, and he could not think of anything he would like more than to spend the night with Cora in his arms.

"Of course I will, sweetheart. I'll change, and I'll come right back."

Robert did not call for his valet, anxious to be back with Cora, and quickly replaced his evening clothes with his pajamas. On his return, he shut off the gas lamps, blew out her candle, and slipped back into bed with her, pulling the blankets over them both. Cora scooted closer so that the end of her belly was resting against him, and he savored the warm weight of their child, rubbing her abdomen gently before wrapping his arm around her.

"Happy Christmas, Cora," he whispered, giving her a quick kiss as her eyelids drooped.

"It already has been," she said sleepily. "It's been the happiest of Christmases."

* * *

AN: Here's wishing you all a very merry Christmas!


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